by L V Chase
His arm jerks forward, gripping onto my hair and yanking my head back. He stares at me, his eyes colder and darker than Alaska in the winter.
“—You better remember who’s in charge,” he continues. A speckle of his spit hits my lower lip. “You better remember that you owe me everything. You don’t get to complain about my choices, because I’m the person who allowed you to have any choices. I could inject your little girlfriend with secobarbital and have you watch as the life leaves her eyes, so don’t you fucking complain about what I choose to do with her. Be glad I don’t do worse, just like I haven’t done worse to you. But I could. Any time I want.”
He releases my hair and swings his arm away from me. He sits back in his chair again, picking up his glass.
“Leave,” he says. “And get that girl on her knees, pledging her love and her mouth to you. Stop wasting time. I know next year Vince won’t disappoint me so thoroughly.”
I stand up slowly. I need to come up with another solution, but I’m learning that I can’t have it all. There is always a price, and that price is always unaffordable.
12
Sadie
Klay stands on Devil’s Leap, a cliff on the edge of Marshall. Frustration is flooding my body. The floodgates are about to break, and he may be swept away by them.
“I want to understand,” I say slowly. “And I do, on a certain level. It’s your family. You care about them. You feel like you need to protect them. But you don’t need to. They know what they’re doing. Your brothers are old enough to take care of themselves. Your mother—”
“Don’t,” he cuts me off. He turns around. A storm is brewing behind his face, darkening his features. “I’m tired of arguing about this with you. I’ve told you my decision. You don’t know them. They can’t take care of themselves.”
“I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit.”
He slams his fist against his palm. Seeing my expression, he folds his hand around his fist and drops his arms down. He takes a deep breath.
“It’s not about underestimating them,” he says. “My brothers don’t understand. They’re still convinced that what they’re doing is right. They—”
“And what are you going to do to challenge that?” I ask. “How are you helping them? Look, I know you care, and you’ve spent all this time taking care of everyone, but you have to put yourself first at some point.”
“I’m not leaving my family,” he says, his hand cutting between us. “Drop it, Sadie. It’s a waste of time. You’ll never understand.”
I know he means that I don’t understand his exact situation, but all I can think about is that my family is dead.
I cross my arms over my chest, shaking my head. “You don’t understand. I care about you. The same way you’re worried about your family, I’m worried about you.”
“Then, you should understand my position.”
“I understand that you’re scared,” I say.
He reaches me so quickly, I haven’t moved at all by the time he’s grabbed me, crushing me against his Jeep. His spicy, woodsy scent drifts over me. His mouth drifts even closer.
“I’m not scared,” he says, his eyes pinning me down. They’re so dark right now, I can see my outline in them and the glint of the sunset. “You don’t need to worry about me. You don’t need to worry about yourself. Because I have everything under control. Everything will be fine.”
“For someone who has everything under control, you’re pretty quick to anger,” I remark. “Let me go.”
“No. Not until you agree to not bring this up.”
“Oh?” I ask. “Strange. I swear you just told me you had everything under control. Except me, evidently.”
He pushes my wrists against the window. He kisses me, his harsh mouth acting like an opioid and a stimulant. His body grinds against me. My breathing is shallow as I’m forced to take in small breaths when he pulls away.
I should be angry at him. I should be demanding that we stay on this topic. We can’t afford to keep getting distracted.
But, God, his mouth is on my neck and his hands move to my hips. My hands search for the zipper of his pants. I can feel his arousal.
I’ll never get over that power to get someone like him to react so easily.
I undo his pants and pull them down. He grips my shoulders, spinning me around. I’m wearing a skirt I bought solely because I knew it would drive him crazy in school—that thin, white material outlining the shape of my ass while he couldn’t touch me at all. I’d been waiting for this.
He pulls the side zipper down, letting the skirt fall down to my shoes. His hands slip under my bikini underwear, squeezing my ass with a desperate appreciation.
He yanks them down. When he thrusts into me, the stinging pain is engulfed by pleasure and an ache for more of him. My hands move toward the hot metal of the Jeep, and my cheek presses against the glass as I lean over. I should be mortified. I should be worried about someone showing up and seeing us. But the only thing I feel is a rising urgency pulsing as hard as my heart.
It should be too harsh and aggressive to be considered making love, but there are little hints that assure me that I’m not just another notch on his belt. His hands grip onto my hips, so that his knuckles hit the Jeep before my body does. His mouth moves over my shoulders, the area below my ear, and the side of my neck with a profound reverence. This combination of brutality and a tenderness that’s nearly as cruel as the brutality is everything that I can’t get when I’m alone and trying to reach the same peaks he gets me to.
My breath fogs the window with my shallow breaths. My back arches away from him as I push my ass hard against him as he drives into me. His hand moves under my shirt, his hand pushing up my bra. He rolls my protruding nipple between his fingers as he bites on my shoulder. I writhe under him, a glutton for his body.
I stand on my toes, nearly tripping on his feet, as the tightness in my body ramps up. I cling to the corner of his Jeep with my left hand while my right hand clenches and unclenches, trying to find something to grip onto. It’s almost too much. He’s too much. And I love it. Excess is intoxicating.
One more thrust sends me over the edge. Pleasure floods through me as I convulse around his thickness. My fingernails scratch into the Jeep’s paint. He thrusts into me twice more before I feel him stiffen and throb inside me.
When I turn around to face him, Marshall looks different than it did before. With the sun dipping lower under the horizon, Devil’s Leap looks like it’s on fire.
In a way, it is, and I’m watching it burn with Klay.
I wake up, sweat clinging to my body. Wetness presses between my legs. The dream remains in my head, clips of it replaying. It was so vivid.
Why would my subconscious concoct a scenario where I was angry at Klay for wanting to stay close to his family? I can’t think of any scenario where I would encourage someone to abandon his family, but my dream self was ready to argue all day with him about it. Or, it was until he pinned me against his Jeep and turned me insane with his kiss.
And I cared about him. A lot.
I fold my pillow in half and shove it under my head. I’m a sensible person. I know dreams don’t mean exactly what they show—they don’t mean anything except that my head is filled with too many thoughts. But the anger, the fear, the sex, and the orgasm felt so real.
My body pulses. I slip my hand under my underwear, close my eyes, and let my memories of the dream play out.
The dress Ethan gave me for Heaven or Hell Thursday—the lacy white one with the angel wings outlined in gold in the back—is soft as cashmere except for the back of it, which itches like chickenpox. I walk through the halls, entertained by everyone’s depiction of angels, devils, and, in Thomas Granger’s case, Cerberus.
If my fantasy of Klay hadn’t overthrown and executed all of my other thoughts, it would have been a good day, which I haven’t had since I lost my memory. Even Roman’s left me alone. It’s possible he was reprimanded for pu
shing me into the dissected pig. I can’t imagine that they’re cheap.
By seventh period, I’m not even bothered when I learn we’re required to run a mile, and I need to run it in less than ten minutes to pass. I wasn’t certain how well I would do, but eight minutes and twelve seconds was better than I would have predicted. It was the one time thinking about my fantasy of Klay helped me out.
I grab my dress and my towel from my locker and head into the showers as a group of girls leave. The showers have a wall blocking it off from the rest of the locker room, and the wall has small cubbies to store clothes and other items. I undress, hanging my dress in the cubby and setting my clothes underneath it. There’s another partial wall between the showers and the hallway that leads to it. Somebody drew a penis using soap on the end of it.
It shouldn’t make me think of Klay, but it does.
I step under the lukewarm water of the shower, letting it wash away the sweat on my body and the chaos in my mind. The muscles in my thighs feel tense, but overall, I don’t feel bad. All I have to do is get through Spanish class and it will be un buen día.
As I soak my hair, I hear a few girls squeal and another girl shouting. I can’t make out any of the words under the water, but when I duck out from under the showerhead, the noise has returned to its usual chatter. Someone must have slipped, or someone jumped out to scare a friend.
I turn the water off and wrap myself in my towel. I walk over to the cubby with my clothes.
It’s empty.
I look around at the other cubbies. Nothing.
I was certain I’d put my clothes here. I wouldn’t have walked naked from the locker room to the showers.
I pull my towel tighter around me and walk out to the locker room.
“Did somebody accidentally take my clothes?” I ask. “They were in one of the cubbies.”
Nobody looks me in the eye. They busy themselves with their clothes, their backpack, or their hair in the full-length mirrors.
I walk over to my locker, creating a hope that I had some extra clothes—a sweater, a spare pair of shorts, the silk robe Ethan gave me, anything. I undo the lock and open it. My backpack hangs in the center of it, a note taped to the front of it.
If you want your clothes back, go into the gym and perform the national anthem.
The handwriting’s sloppy. It’s a man’s, I would guess. Roman. He must have come into the locker room. He must have been the cause of the commotion when I was in the shower.
Heat creeps under my skin. I can’t do that. I won’t do it.
I turn around. “Could I borrow someone’s gym clothes? I just need to borrow it for the day. I’ll bring them back tomorrow, fully washed.”
One of the girls—Ashley or Amy—rolls her eyes before walking out of the locker room. I hear a couple of girls giggling, but I don’t turn to look at them. Everyone else continues to ignore me.
I’ll find the gym teacher. Everything will be fine.
I check the teacher’s office, but she’s not there. I should have known better than to be optimistic.
I tighten my towel around me again. I could wait here for the teacher. I could wait for the next class to come in and see if anyone will lend me their clothes. But I don’t know if there’s an eighth period gym class, and having to see more of my classmates and explain—while I’m partially naked—that I’ve had my clothes stolen is a hurdle I don’t want to jump.
My only choice left is to go out to the gym and demand my clothes back. Or sing the anthem.
When I walk out to the gym, I find several of the boys from gym class waiting for me. Their eyes focus on me. Some of them smirk while a few others laugh. Klay isn’t there. Roman stands in the middle of the group, his grin wide enough that I can see every single one of his teeth I’d like to break.
I stop a couple of feet in front of him. “Give me my clothes back.”
He laughs, his hand slapping against his thigh. It’s a boisterous, fake laugh. I resist the urge to hit him, though only because I can’t let go of my towel.
“Sweet cheeks, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. “My friends and I are only here because we’re going to play a game of ball. Mr. McKinney won’t mind if we miss shop class.”
“Roman, I swear to God, if you don’t give me my clothes back, I’ll report you.”
He snorts. “To who? The principal? And when you storm into his office to tattle on me, what are you going to say? And let’s pretend I did take your clothes. How quickly do you think I can make them disappear for good? Even if the principal did want to risk upsetting my parents by trying to get me in trouble, you’d have no evidence for anything. Hey, Jacob, did you see me steal any clothes?”
A skinny boy with dark, curly hair shakes his head. “Nah. I didn’t see you take anything.”
“What about you Kevin?” Roman asks. A blonde boy with a large forehead smirks.
“You’d never steal anything, Roman. You’re a golden boy.”
Roman gestures to his other friends. “You see, Sadie? You’re delusional, and you’re standing in front of all these boys with nothing between us and you but a towel. And everyone in school knows that you’ve wanted to get on my dick for years, so they’d know you only tried to tattle on me because I wouldn’t let you go on a test drive on my Escalade.”
He makes a violent gesture at his groin.
“Or,” he says loudly. “Maybe this is your seduction technique. Did you come out here in just a towel with that slicked back hair to seduce me? Because that might actually work. You’re a clever girl, Sadie.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. He has all of the power right now, and he knows it. I’ve walked straight into the lion’s den, and the lion is ravenous.
“Please, Roman,” I say. Desperation sneaks into my voice despite my best efforts to keep it suppressed. “I just want my clothes.”
“Hmm.” He taps his finger against his lips, looking up toward the ceiling like he’s in deep thought. “If I did have your clothes—including that sexy little number that you think makes you look angelic instead of just slutty—I might consider giving it back to you. But only if you let that towel drop open and show me the merchandise. One day, I might consider it worth the price, but I’ll need to see first.”
My cheeks burn so hot, I feel a prickle of sweat near my hairline.
“No,” I say firmly.
He shrugs. “No clothes, then,” he says. He turns to Kevin. “Let’s go shoot some ball. Someone needs to get some action around here.”
“No—” I reach out and grab his arm.
His other arm strikes forward, snatching the front of my towel. I secure the towel closer around me, but he still has a grip on the front of it. We’re close enough that I can see the make-up used to cover up the bruise near his eye.
“Girl, I could rub you down so good, you’d be humping the floor, moaning my name, and you’d—”
Kevin makes a noise that almost sounds like he’s choking. Roman and I turn to look at him, but as I take in his frightened expression, I see movement in my periphery. Roman releases my towel. I take two quick steps back as someone slams into Roman.
Roman and the newcomer fall to the floor. As I take a few more steps back, I see that it’s Klay. His face is contorted with rage as his fist slams down on Roman’s face. Roman tries to cover his face with his arms.
“You. Can’t,” Roman grunts as Klay’s fist breaks between his arms to hit his jaw. “The rules. You. Can’t. No.”
Kevin and Jacob reach down and grab Klay, pulling him off Roman. Klay shakes off Kevin and yanks his arm out of Jacob’s grasp, slamming his fist into Roman’s gut. They grab him again, yanking him backward. My heart beats erratically as I worry that they’re going to retaliate against Klay, but they only restrain him. They exchange worried glances behind him.
Klay raises his hands.
“It’s fine. I’m done,” he says, his breathing slightly ragged.
The two boys exchange ano
ther look, but they let him go. Klay moves toward Roman again. The other two hesitantly move forward, but stop as Klay roughly grabs Roman’s arm and pulls his backpack out from under him. He unzips it and takes out my dress and gym clothes. He drops the backpack down near Roman’s head. Roman flinches. Klay crouches down beside him.
“If I recall, you didn’t think I could be Prince Charming,” he says. “And you refused to change your plan. So, I just changed mine. Everybody’s version of nice is different, and this is mine. Keep fucking up, and I’ll keep taking advantage of it.”
He stands up and walks over to me. He shoves my clothes against my chest. I quickly grab them.
“Have a good day, Sadie,” he says, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
I scurry back into the locker room, not looking back at Roman or his buddies. It’s still empty, so I get dressed quickly. I barely have my shoes on before I run out. I’m prepared to keep running to avoid Roman, track down Klay, and thank Klay, but I don’t have to go far because Klay is standing near the school doors, evidently ready to leave the school.
We still have eighth period, but I’m already late to Spanish class and every arrogant asshole in this school seems to relish skipping class. It’s either a serious case of senioritis or a worse case of entitlement.
“Klay,” I call out.
He turns as I stop in front of him. He’s holding his phone and his knuckles are swollen and red.
“Thank you,” I say. “For helping me get my clothes back.”
“Your bra is showing,” he remarks.
I look down. In my rush to get dressed, part of the dress folded inward, showing part of my bra. I fix it. I lick my lips, avoiding looking directly at him.
“I know…things were weird after what happened in the—”
“Sadie, we’re not friends,” he says flatly. “I apologize if I made you believe that we were.”
“I get that,” I say, swallowing the disappointment. “But what you did for me…I’m grateful. I owe you so much. I want to—”